|Born of a Dream
Author: Mienaku PM
Prompt given to me by Dragon's Willow. Johari is a dhampir, the first in over a thousand years. When circumstances leave her with the choice between certain death and drinking from Wulfred, a lycan, what will she choose?Rated: Fiction T - English - Supernatural/Romance - Chapters: 2 - Words: 589 - Reviews: 2 - Updated: 08-01-10 - Published: 01-07-10 - id: 2761388
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Time passes strangely when you are undead? new-life? Or maybe the new-age term still-life. Looking in the mirror day by day does not bring with it the same passage of years as it would for a human, better known now as a natural. According to some newfangled group God made man not vampire thus man is natural and us vamps are still-lifes. We are walking breathing frozen expressions of what we used to be. As for those shifters out there, they are called abstracts. Not quite man yet not animal, a mesh of both yet neither. Definitions seemed to have blurred as time passes.
Looking in the mirror I see a twenty something woman with red hair that is closer to brown then copper. Your typical junior college student, right? Maybe. If not for the years that bled through the eyes, possibly. I hadn't aged much over the last 70 years. I could pass for a natural more easily then most still-lifes. I was an anomaly. A small bleep in the flat-line of vampire heritage. I was neither dead, nor living. A day-walker. The first in over a 1000 years. I wonder what the newfangled term would be for me? Would I be a concept? Or maybe a representation? Yes that seems to fit more. A representation of both life and death.
Sighing, I turn back to the room. I should leave soon, I've stayed in this city far too long as it is. Sometimes though, I wonder what it would be like to sleep somewhere and wake knowing that I could make friends without the fear of losing them. To straddle that line of both living yet not, I have no world of my own. Hunted by both naturals and still-lifes wishing to use me to somehow one-up the other. I have somehow become a trophy in a war started long before my time.
I was coming realize now what my father most feared as I was growing up. The fear of my existence becoming public knowledge. He feared I would be hunted like some majestic beast, regardless of the costs. I miss him even now. Decades that its been since his death and still I feel that if I were to close my eyes I could feel the fleeting brush of his hand atop my head.
Shaking myself out of my nostalgic daze I quickly grab my bag and leave my hotel room, dropping the keys off in the overnight box. Its time to find a new city, and a new alias. Maybe this time I can stay longer than a week, maybe.